Castiel and Crowley SE1 Episode 6 1-2 -TNM: Life of Crowley(A prelude)
by WatchingOne
Summary: It's been a hard week for the Demon Crowley...why can't he keep a thought straight in his head? And why is he in trouble with his boss? (Prelude to Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions, Episode 7: Life of Crowley)
**The Road That Was _(Life of Crowley .5)_**

Crowley took small, hesitant steps down the long hallway to Lilith's office, wondering, as the closed door loomed larger and larger, what he had actually done to deserve this.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He could _feel_ the eyes of his fellow Demons on his back. A call to Lilith's office only meant one thing.

Failure.

And failure in the service of Lilith...

Crowley shuddered, his mind racing.

* * *

It had been a pretty normal week in Hell.

It started, like all weeks in Hell started, on Monday morning at 5 a.m.. It didn't even make him uncomfortable anymore that there were, in fact, three Monday's during the work week in Hell, and no weekends.

It was amazing what tortures one could get used to in just a few thousand short years.

Crowley had gone through his normal routine; he took a freezing cold shower, then he got dressed in his tight-fitting three-piece suit and bound his tie to his neck tight enough to make the veins pop out on his neck. It was the standard dress-code for Demons working in the Contract Dues Department of the Crossroads Demon Building.

He had worked there long enough to be allowed a cup of coffee, but the ground sludge that was offered him, well, who was he kidding? He drank it anyway. Even Hell has small mercies.

He had been particularly busy that week, as the ongoing war between Heaven and Hell had finally obliterated Asia. There was some kind of party in the office of the second Thursday the week before (no Fridays-obviously), because apparently Lucifer had won this round against Michael. Crowley could have cared less. All it meant was that he had to file at least three times as many forms that week. And honestly? Who kept track of the war anymore? It had been raging for over seven years, well, topside at least.

Once the Angel Zachariah had finally broke Michael's vessel...what was his name again? Dirk? Desmond? Crowley sighed. He would have to stop by the archives again after work.

He could not explain his seeming obsession with the start of the war. He found himself drawn to reading accounts over and over again of events since around the summer of 2008, by the Earth calendar.

Something seemed to be _missing_ to him, and it drove him crazy. Like an itch that couldn't be scratched. And in Hell, that was saying a lot.

So he found himself going to the archives repeatedly, puzzling over reports, watching old Earth newscasts. But he never could seem to get a handle on it. The picture never seemed complete.

And little details kept escaping his memory, which was _very_ uncommon for Crowley. Normally, he never forgot anything, especially little details. That's what made him such a good Crossroads Demon. The names of the vessels for Michael and Lucifer...why were those names so _important_ to him?

After Wednesday of that week, and a twelve-hour day of screaming at upset people in Cantonese, Crowley found himself back in the archives, his head pounding.

"Well, hello Crowley," the librarian had said. She was a rather bookish, but attractive Demon, long blond hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses. She watched him over the bridge of them as he waved and settled up next to one of the shelves.

"Hello Attie," Crowley had answered. He met her stern blue eyes and smiled tiredly. "The usual, if you please."

Attie had raised an eyebrow and then walked out from behind her desk. She had been carrying a clipboard cradled in her right arm and a pen in her left hand. She was dressed, as always, very smartly in a well-pressed pants-suit.

"You know, this is bordering on an unhealthy obsession, even for Hell," she had remarked as she ticked off something on her clipboard and pulled out a key, unlocking and sliding back the glass door protecting the books and papers inside.

"Tell me about it," Crowley had grunted. "I just...", he had then broke off what he was about to say and looked at Attie, who was watching him intently. Crowley had felt a cold shiver, feeling very much like a mouse being watched by a patient snake, wondering what they were going to do next.

He had decided to take a risk, and look the snake dead in the eyes.

"I seem to...have trouble remembering what I read or see in here, Attie. Any ideas as to why that is?"

Attie had smiled at him and nodded knowingly.

"It's a bit like a spell, I'm afraid, " she had answered smoothly. "You know what they say: 'Knowledge is Power', and all that? Well, let's just say someone down here isn't all that fond of sharing."

Crowley had gulped heavily. He didn't have to ask who she was talking about. She had meant the Devil himself.

"I just wish I could get this...I don't know how to explain it...urge out of my head to keep researching this," he had said, exasperated. "I have no idea why, but it just seems, important to me. To my life...or," he had corrected himself, waving a hand arbitrarily in the air, indicating Hell, "my existence." He had then looked very intently at Attie. "Have you...ever felt that you had _misplaced_ something, and if you ever found it, your whole life would change?"

Attie had watched him calmly for a heartbeat after that, then smiled warmly. "All the time, to be perfectly accurate," she had answered mercurially. She had then turned and frowned and shoved a few thick volumes aside, raising a small cloud of dust. Crowley had let out a little cough as she found what she was looking for, grabbed it and pulled it from the back of the stacks.

"Tell you what, Crowley," she had said. "Let's try something different for you today." She had lain a very old book, bound in ancient leather onto the table. She very carefully and almost reverently opened it to reveal illuminated vellum pages. She had then reached into a pocket and produced a pair of white cotton gloves and placed them next to the book.

"No fingerprints, please," she had said with a final smile, turned on her black high-heel, and walked back to behind her desk.

Crowley had watched her leave, then turned down to look at the book she had brought him, pulling on the gloves carefully. He had frowned at the title; 'Accounts of the Sinking of Atlantis', and had looked back up at Attie, who was busy behind her desk, not watching him.

He looked back down at the page she had opened for him and had begun to read the flowery, handwritten text.

"...continuing the Account of the last moments of Atlantis, as recorded by the hand of the Captain of the galley that had borne the last Emperor forth from the doomed city.

The Most-Revered Emperor of Atlantis, in full flight, was pursued onto the sea by a pair of Angels of the Lord, one of which was indeed one of the Seven, the Most Holy. He was slain in True and Fair Combat by the Hand of my Master, and thus ended Gabriel, an Angel of the Lord. His fellow, an Angel named Castiel, most cowardly slew a captured prisoner whilst he still were bound. They both vanished from sight when his Blade struck true. The Emperor, much distraught, and displaying His Full Power, Raged for days on end..."

Crowley had stopped, the words already fading from his memory. He looked back up at Attie, who was watching him again.

One name remained in his head as he closed the book and went back to his home.

Castiel.

It remained there, not fading from his memory.

* * *

Crowley stopped in his slow death-like march towards Lilith's office, a thought coming to his head.

Had he learned something forbidden? Had he gone too far? A cold shiver went down his spine.

 _Why_ had Attie showed it to him then, when in all likelihood, it was going to get him killed?Or worse?

 _That bitch_ , Crowley thought spitefully as he took a steadying breath and walked the rest of the way to the door.


End file.
